I'm here
by Complicated-little-Jellie
Summary: "Clara," he crooned, running his other hand through her hair delicately. "My beautiful, impossible girl. I'm here."


_Hi, first Whofic but not my first fic. This is just a oneshot that happened suddenly, and without better means of use I figured I would just post it and contribute to the fandom a tad. The characters might be a bit OC, but I hope you enjoy anyway. _

_Setting: In the TARDIS, a little while after Trenzalore. _

_Warning: Self harm, possibly trigger _

_Disclaimer: Every recognisable reference is the property of the BBC._

* * *

"So, Doctor, where are we going this time?" Clara asked, unable to force the enthusiasm she needed into her question.

He danced around his control room, "No where. Not right now, at least. Just space." He pulled down a lever and then looked at her. It was the first time he had looked at her face since he'd picked her up.

"Just … space?" Clara chewed on her lip, subconsciously drawing her long sleeves round her hands. "Why?"

He walked over to her, standing face to face. There was a sad look on his face, both determined and regretful at the same time, Clara noted. She knew him so well, before but even more now that it was his past that crushed her mind every night.

But right now she didn't know what he was doing. The Doctor stood at least a head taller than her, and looked imposing.

Without warning he put his hand out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her arm up until her now outstretched hand rested at the point on his chest between both his hearts. She could feel them beat between her fingers, beautiful and alien. When he twisted her arm round, she tried to pull away instinctively but he had a tight grip and a greater thirst of determination. With his other hand, he carefully drew her sleeve up to the crease of her elbow, revealing the multitude of half healed scars and fresh cuts, some even still sluggishly bleeding.

"Oh, Clara." He muttered mournfully, looking at her arm. His voice was so deep and melancholy. She too had watched the blood, but when he looked up to her face she had to look away; she couldn't look him in the eyes. The blood had drained from her face; she could feel herself paling in humiliation and disgust with herself. Clara didn't think she would ever be able to look in the eyes again; she wouldn't be able to hide her shame.

In vain she tried to pull her arm away again, but he held on tighter. Tight, but not enough to hurt her.

Still not looking at him, she fought hard to keep her voice level. "I think I'd like to leave now." She stated. She needed to get away, to find something sharp and relieve the pressure. She needed to run away and curl up and cry herself into a nightmare-ridden sleep.

If he was startled by what she said, there was no sign on his face. "Clara, you know I can't let you do that." Of course that was the answer, of course. He had never kept her or made her do something she didn't want to, but she was broken and he would make it his personal quest to fix her up. Knowing him, he would feel guilty about it all.

"You've never stopped me before. You said you never would." She argued, pulling her arm away. This time he let her, but she didn't move. She was small and weak and Clara, and he was a lot stronger than he looked.

"Things have changed, Clara. I would never keep you here against your will, but you're not thinking straight. My dear, sweet Clara, you need help. I can help you. I will." She still couldn't look him in the eyes, because she knew she'd find sadness and tears there, and she wouldn't be able to keep herself strong.

"I don't want your help. I can do this myself."

"Clara," he dragged his hand over his face, pushing his overhanging mop out of his face, "You don't have a choice anymore," he almost moaned, exasperated and hating every word he had to say. "You're not thinking straight and this is my responsibility. I promised I would protect you, and that includes from yourself." He'd started animating his words with his hands again, just like normal. _Her _Doctor.

She took a single step backwards, daring him to move. "If I walked towards the doors right now, I bet the TARDIS would open them for me." She stated, taking another step.

He sighed. "Clara, don't make me stop you. Please." He was begging her, she realised. He really didn't want to use manpower. She continued treading backwards softly until she reached the end of the ramp.

His voice hardened the next time he spoke, and it was far more resolute. "Clara, another step and I will stop you. Don't make me; we'll go have some tea and jammy dodgers and talk about this like adults."

She shook her head: this impossible man, so broken and deep and infesting every waking and sleeping moment of her existence. Clara ran, throwing herself forward. For a supposedly old man, he'd moved incredibly fast. Catching her before she reached the open door, his large frame encased her and he pushed her body behind his, wrapping a restraining arm round her slim waist, allowing himself time to slam the door shut and sonic it to lock. When he spun to face her, seizing the writhing hands, there was a grim sort of look on his face.

He didn't want to hurt her. It hurt him that he might have to. That he would scare her or hold onto her a little too tight.

"Doctor," She moaned, attempting to pull away from him, "Let me go, please." She didn't say she would be okay, because they both knew it wasn't true. Clara could run from him but she couldn't lie to him. Not to him.

"Clara," he murmured, spinning her struggling little frame round to face him. He knew what he needed to do, how he could fix her, though he didn't want to do it at all. It was imposing, it was against his morals and at the same time it wasn't, because it was the only way and he was the person that had to heal her.

He released her arms but she didn't move, she barely dared breathe, staring straight through him. She managed to raise her eyes, up and up until they landed on his own. The twinge of her heart sprung tears to her eyes, but they fell in silence. The Doctor, hands spread wide, lifted them, advancing his large fingers towards her face. She realised.

"No," she shook her head, finding the strength to take a shaky step backwards. "Doctor, don't you dare – " She'd never really found the resolve to make her voice sound strong, but she did sound strong. To her own ears, that was.

He didn't say a word, but the crease of his brow and the heavy set grim look deepened further. She continued to back away, to escape. "Clara, I don't have a choice. This is tearing you apart!" His placid demeanour crumbled as he shouted, roaring his words. Unable to help herself, she flinched.

She'd backed away until her back hit the controls, until she couldn't any more. Clara didn't run; she couldn't hide. It was futile. She was so terribly scared, too scared to move, but not because of him. Never had she been scared of him, not once, not ever. In every single one of her million lives she had not. She was scared of what he was going to do. She couldn't live with remembering, but she couldn't live with forgetting either.

He stopped just before her. "Doctor," she gasped, "Not like this, there has to be another way," she trembled with every breath. He was around her; she couldn't get away now. It was inevitable. He would be both her saviour and her downfall, remembered and forgotten all at once.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, pressing his hands against her face. He hadn't had to do this since Donna, since his previous face, but he knew how. The Time Lord took every moment; every life and death Clara had experienced apart from the real one, and buried it where she would never be able to find. He left echoes; it would never be perfect because she hadn't absorbed his memories, not like Donna; these were her own. He felt like a thief. The doctor tried to be gentle, prodding slowly and taking carefully, but it was going to take her mind a while to recover from this. Doing it this slowly was beginning to hurt him, but what he was doing to Clara hurt him a lot more.

He'd kept his eyes closed, partly to concentrate and partly so he didn't have to look into hers. But he could feel her grimace beneath his fingertips. He had never struggled with a sense of time, but he lost his grasp as he delved into her mind. It passed without warning, so he didn't know how long it took him to seal her torn mind.

When he'd done, he withdrew his mind and his hands, catching her instinctively when her knees failed. Clara wouldn't wake for a while.

But that was okay.

He had her scars to heal. He would give her a bed and his hand, sit by her bedside every moment he could and wait. She would wake, and inevitably she would be scared. She would have nightmares for months and she would be weak. She would be miserable, because of him.

But that was okay because he had time. He always had time for his Clara. He would heal her broken heart and help her with her broken mind. He would be everything she needed.

He was going to do this right, this time.

* * *

She took a deep breath and opened her chocolate brown eyes slowly. He was there; of course he was, peering over her, his hand encasing hers. A smile graced his lips and she managed to speak; "Doctor… " She whispered, throat rasping from disuse.

"Clara," he crooned, running his other hand through her hair delicately. "My beautiful, impossible girl. I'm here."


End file.
